Badwolf Baker Street (1)
by averysherlockedtardis
Summary: Book 1 in the United series - The Doctor pays a visit to 221B Baker Street to meet the boys and change their lives forever. But the problem extends above just London, England. The universe is being ripped apart from another dimension, and not by a force anyone has ever faced before : possibly the deadliest force in all the dimensions. But first they have to save themselves...
1. A Change

The door opened to the hunched-over figure of Sherlock Holmes, his partner, John Watson, watching longingly from the sidelines. A stranger would presume the latter to simply want to be part of the thoughts running through the great detective's head, to be able to assist someone as clever as he. But someone like Molly Hooper could see the truth in the doctor's eyes and the way he rubbed his face tiredly that his desire ran deeper than work. The man beside her was oblivious to either of these things.

"Um, hello…" Molly started timidly.

Sherlock did not glance up from his work, but answered instead with a non-committal grunt. John glanced over, a swift smile beginning to form, on his lips. However, when he saw the extra person at the door he frowned slightly.

"Sherlock."

"Mm?" came the reply, uninterested.

"There's someone new."

If one thing could be said about Doctor John Watson it was that even after such a short time with his roommate, he knew how to get his attention. Sherlock finally looked up from his work, quickly appraising the new arrival. Then something happened that no one, not even the great detective himself could have foreseen.

Sherlock Holmes froze.

An awkward silence followed, broken by a little cough from Molly's direction, followed by an introduction.

"Well, um, this is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, obviously," she attempted a small smile at this point, "And Sherlock, this is John Smith."

The newcomer stepped forward, speaking for the first time. "Actually, no, that not right, sorry Molly for the inconvenience, but that's not my name. I'm the Doctor."

"But that's impossible." Came Sherlock's voice, the smallest the room had heard it before.

"Not impossible," the Doctor grinned, "Just a little bit unlikely. Now, I heard you were good but this is _fantastic_!"

"What? What's wrong? Sherlock, what is it?" John pitched in with his usual tact.

"Molly, please leave."

"But … I …"

"Go."

Molly did as she was bid and Sherlock continued.

"John, you know everything I told you about aliens and the supernatural?"

"You said it was made up by the unimaginative and the dull."

"Yes, well, forget all of that right now, I've changed my mind."

"What?" John raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, my mind, changed, I've changed it, fvoom, gone, and new idea takes its place. Happens all the time, I'm just too clever for you to realise it."

"Yes, but … but why?"

At this point the Doctor stepped forward, "Ah, yes that would be me. You're a doctor aren't you? I love doctors. I'm called the Doctor, have I mentioned?"

"Ah, yes, yeah." John shook his hand. "Yes, so you said, but … who are you?"

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, "Well, that's the question, isn't it? But at this point I hand it over to Mr Sherlock Holmes, take it away Sherlock!"

Sherlock glared, and then sighed. "This man is impossibility personified, no matter how you wish to put it. He is, it seems, not of this world. And don't – " he looked over at John "- interrupt me. His clothes give it away. They completely mismatch, different sizes, different brands but they all compliment him. Stolen, but selectively. He has a sense of fashion, quite rare in thieves, don't you think? They take what they can get when they can get it, they don't … accessorise.

"Which brings us on to the bowtie, slightly too small for his frame, with multiple creases. He re-ties it often, sometimes not successfully, so he hasn't worn it too often before. But the creases also have traces of dust; he doesn't clean it frequently, giving us a clue of where he's been, which is where it gets tricky.

"This … dust. I cannot identify it, and I'm quite certain that if I had scans run on it, it would give me no further insight. Then there's the slight bulge in his jacket pocket, but … no, not a gun. A screwdriver, but again not of this world. I can smell it, in the air, even as we stand here. There's a whole list, but if I am correct, which I don't think at this point I cannot be, this … Doctor, is an alien. Which, as I was saying earlier, is pretty hard for me to accept, but true nonetheless. Am I right?"

The Doctor laughed merrily. "Brilliant! Oh, you're good you are, way beyond your time, though I can hardly speak. And you're quite right about the screwdriver too. Here –" he chucked a strange green tool at Sherlock, "-check her out."

Faced with something new, Sherlock relaxed a bit. He examined it as the other man explained.

"It's a sonic screwdriver; it literally opens doors for me."

"It emits a series of particles in a sonic wave," the detective speculated, "linked to another object of yours, but larger, it can't be on you at all times so you have this. You said it opens doors, so logically it would also seal them for you. But that's not it – if I just …"

He flicked the screwdriver so a claw-like attachment sprang out.

"It could do more. I'm presuming it can interact with technology, since any form of wave can interact with another, and perhaps … given enough time –"

"-it could resonate through concrete." The Doctor smiled. "Oh, I like you."

"So," John piped up for the first time in ages. "He's – you're an alien."

"Time Lord, actually." The Doctor replied, "I have a time machine."

"No." Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "How does that work, then?"

"Um, ah … wibbly-wobbly … timey-wimey …"

He took his screwdriver back and smiled.

"Do you want to see?"


	2. Inside

The two men – the Time Lord and the consulting detective – chatted intently as they walked down Baker Street. John, having nothing to gain or contribute to the conversation concerning the two most brilliant people he had ever met, hung back. He tried to remain in a good mood, but failed dramatically. In just a few minutes, this Doctor had impressed and interested Sherlock in a way John was never able to do. Sure he had surprised his colleague, but he had never _changed his mind _or been able to talk so intimately with him about science. John was the heart and Sherlock was the brains, and John Watson well knew that the heart was the body's greatest weakness.

"John!" Sherlock called from in front, one of those rare smiles playing on his pale full lips. John's chest gave an involuntary pull, and he switched his brain into work mode, shutting off all areas that could trigger longing. His sight, for instance.

The Doctor beamed at the pair, directing them all to a halt in front of a blue box. _Police Telephone Box_, the sign read, though John had never seen anything of the sort.

"Now, boys, brace yourselves, and welcome," he snapped his fingers and the door opened, "to the TARDIS."

John stepped in first to find himself faced with a room that obviously not of the proportions he had seen from the outside. His jaw dropped and he gazed around, utterly baffled. He pushed past the Doctor and Sherlock as they made their way inside, and gawking at the impossible. He circled the box and pushed its boundaries – not an optical illusion then, though he couldn't see how an optical illusion could sit in the middle of London. He raced back inside and turned a circle, finally accepting the impossible. He shut the doors behind him and meandered up the ramp.

He glanced over at Sherlock to find his eyes gleaming, but jaw clenched. He was holding his observations back for now, for whatever reason. The Doctor leant near the controls and sighed in contentment. His eyes bored into John's, playing in the light with all the energy of a five year old.

"So, Doctor Watson, what do you think?" he asked gleefully.

John stumbled at being asked before Sherlock in this already bizarre scenario. "Well, uh, its … its bigger on the inside."

The Doctor had barely flashed a smile John's way before Sherlock blurted out, "Trans-dimensional portal."

Shaking his head, the Doctor looked at Sherlock. "Yes. Grown organically."

"Really? Camouflage unit?"

"Chameleon circuit. Broken."

"Damn. Temporal grace?"

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess, I observe."

"Lucky observation. Sontaren technology, though don't tell them, I'm not sure they'd be pleased…"

"No, I don't imagine they would be…" Sherlock chuckled.

"I'm sorry, what?" John huffed, completely lost.

The Doctor puffed out his chest slightly. "Sherlock and I had a deal, that he would withhold his deductions until you had said "It's bigger on the inside.""

"How did you know I was going to say that?"

"They _always _say that." The side of his mouth quirked up; a little sadly, maybe. "And I can't stand it when they don't. But now it's been said, let's move on.

"This is a TARDIS, Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. This girl here can take you to any point in the universe at any point in time; but you can't cross over your own timeline, that's when bad stuff starts to happen. She's fully equipped with apparel for any time or place, there's a library somewhere I think, haven't been able to find it yet, and all other thingamajigs and whatchamacallits, but this is the place to be. The control room – this is where the magic happens."

"So..." John ventured, "Do all of … your kind have a TARDIS? You did say _a _TARDIS, not _the_."

Sherlock shot him what could have been a look of approval before turning back to the Doctor.

The Doctor avoided their gazes. "Used to be, not anymore, I'm the last one now. So is the TARDIS." The emphasis was palpable on the 'the.' "Anyway, did you know that there are so many rooms in here even I don't know what they are? Not that I spend a lot of time in here, there's a whole big world out there. Well, there's a whole big world in here too, but I don't know where the swimming pool has gone..."

He babbled on but neither of the pair was listening anymore. They both knew he was just babbling, covering up his past, and they let it slide. They both knew the feeling and they weren't prone to prejudice. Sherlock spoke up.

"Doctor." And he shut up, glad, somewhat, to have something else to talk about. "Why are we here?"

The Doctor jumped up and started fiddling with controls. "Yes, right, down to business no time to lose – pun intended. Hold on to something."

He pulled a lever and the floor lurched, sending John flying and forcing Sherlock to lunge forward to grab the railing. The tube in the middle of the control room started glowing and something inside was moving up and down, making a strange noise.

"Geronimo!" The Doctor cried as he positioned himself, spread-eagled across the control board, fiddling with an assortment of levers and knobs.

John grabbed the lowest rail and clung to it firmly as the TARDIS, the Doctor and his companions lurched off into the black.

AN: I know this seems completely random at this point but I promise it is going somewhere. Next chapter is when it gets weird, so please don't judge my random fandomness. Thanks for sticking with me so far. DFTBA.


	3. That's Ood

**Chapter 3**

By the time Sherlock had regained his slightly lapsing composure, the TARDIS had landed and the Doctor had sprung toward the exit with aplomb, only slowing down enough to call out "come on boys!" over his shoulder as he tried to pull the door open, then disappeared into the new world.

Sherlock refastened his scarf and pulled his jacket collar up, glancing at John who seemed to have just recently opened his eyes. He smirked slightly, on the side where John couldn't see him, and strode to the door, hearing the loud tread of his partner's feet right behind him. Taking care, he pushed the door open and purposefully strode out, hesitating slightly when his eyes adjusted to the light.

The light. The brand new light that neither of them had ever seen before on a planet that wasn't theirs faced with a race that was definitely _not _human.

John choked slightly on his own breath as he saw the creatures too, and called out to the Doctor, who seemed to be conversing with them.

"Doct- Doctor? What, um, who are these … thing- people?"

The Doctor turned from the beings, which were truly alien in origin. Bald and wrinkled, with tiny slanted eyes and pointed ears, their mouths were replaced with voluminous tentacles, reaching to their chest. From this, a tube extended to a small white orb, which they held in their hands as they milled about. Wearing plain baggy clothes and with kindly eyes, they addressed the humans with a voice not unlike their own. The landscape was one like arctic snow, the camp consisting of a few tents and stone structures, seeming to be relatively new in terms of architecture. The one talking to the Doctor turned to them before their host could speak.

"We are the Ood." It spoke in a soft voice that was gentle and sounded male, though that could just be the programming. When it communicated, it lifted its orb in front of it and the object glowed.

Sherlock tested the name out, "The Ood."

John blustered, "The … Ood?"

The Doctor rubbed his hands together. "Yes, the Ood, found and forced to become a slave race for the humans. Telepathic, so they communicate through these translator devices, originally installed by the humans. I helped to break them out and return their civilisation to this planet." He became distracted. "I was a different man back then…"

The Ood spoke up again, "The Ood sing the praises of the Doctor-Donna."

Taking a deep breath which Sherlock discovered to mean a topic that was not going to be discussed had come up, the Doctor put an arm around the Ood.

"This is Ood-Eh, which is quite … odd." He seemed to smile in memory as he looked at the alien. "I never thought Ood had names. Actually, they specifically didn't. That was the point. I liked points they were always … pointy." The Doctor seemed to pout, pondering. "But I suppose. Timey-wimey. Now, tell these two gentlemen what you told me."

Ood-Eh inclined his head, his wrinkled eyelids closing in. "I will show them."

The four beings – the Ood, the Time Lord, the soldier and the detective – made their way over to one of the stone buildings, Ood-Eh walking next to the Doctor, and Sherlock walking next to John.

John seemed to be breathing quite heavily, and looked straight ahead as he walked, not letting his sight stray to the alien camp around him. Sherlock recognised this as one of his soldier-moods. He would become this … machine that would not be phased, but neither would he be John anymore, the heart to Sherlock's brain. Sometimes Sherlock would feel inexplicably sad when John did this, like guilt, only deeper. He rationalised it to the fact that it usually _was _his fault, 'accidently' bumped into John and felt much warmer when their eyes met and John relaxed.

They finally arrived to what seemed to be a circle of Ood, and they each took their own place amongst the creatures, excluding Ood-Eh, who bowed his head to the three.

"I hope you find your answers. Doctor, good luck."

The Doctor nodded solemnly, then grabbed the hand of the Ood to his right, and held the other out to Sherlock. Sherlock hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then raised his hand. The Doctor took it and squeezed, John following the other's examples, though Sherlock couldn't help but notice he and John clasped their hands much tighter than the aliens on either side of them. The entire circle lifted their arms in unison, probably a result of the high telepathic generation and the latent psychic ability of humans to –

All at once their surroundings dissipated and they were lost in memories of the present, and the future. They saw a world so far from their own, and yet not so different. A world where reality was fiction, the reality of hundreds of worlds just stories. They saw the dedicated to these stories slowly becoming more and more frustrated with their lives, a life of fiction-less reality. It was too much: soon they rose up, ravishing their world in search of their obsessions, calling out to them, tearing down the walls of reality itself to find them … to find us, Sherlock realised. To find the Doctor, to find Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, and others that were fiction even in their own world. They knew – no, not knew, _hoped_ – that if the walls between realities were opened they could find those they adored. The Doctor, especially, they knew would find them, he could not let the universes collapse. He would make it better, their Doctor. And … he was. Right now, gathering his army – not of soldiers, but of those the (what was that word, so full of pain?) desperate other world inhabitants desired, the only ones who could stop them. But that wasn't the only danger, the Doctor's enemies, all of them, saw he was caught in a moment of weakness, knew how to travel through the void, and they had to be stopped too.

Sherlock surfaced from the visions and heard John gasp audibly. He glanced over at the Doctor to see he had his head hung, contemplating the task ahead no doubt. Sherlock was surprised to find his hand still in Johns, but discovered it was strangely comforting.

They sat there for a bit, and then headed back to the TARDIS. The Doctor needed them to fight monsters with him, and they would, if for nothing else then those on the other Earth, those desperate people who needed them. They would fight for them.


End file.
